


Amber Poison

by lizzybennettdarcy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean, Angst, M/M, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, post-the vessel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzybennettdarcy/pseuds/lizzybennettdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S11E14 "The Vessel" - Dean copes the only way he knows how: The Winchester way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amber Poison

He makes it 7 hours before reaching for a beer. Only 3 hours later and he’s raiding the liquor cabinet for something stronger.

When he stumbles into the kitchen the next afternoon with bloodshot eyes and a splitting headache, Sam only sighs gently and prepares a greasy breakfast to soak up some of the booze. Dean buries his head in his hands on the table and screws his eyes shut against the barrage of memories that he had been trying to drink away.

“Here.” Sam says quietly, though loudly enough to startle Dean out of his newest waking nightmare. He jumps as a plate is placed on the table beside his head. He feels the understanding in his brother’s brown eyes and so he avoids them. Instead he begins eating the eggs and bacon in front of him and gulping down his hot coffee.

Eventually Sam just gives up and walks out.

* * *

 

He makes it until dinnertime. The two of them have been pouring over the books, neither one of them actually mentions the elephant in the room. It isn’t until Sam forgets himself and says “Maybe we should ask Cas about this one spell-“ that both of them make horrified eye contact.

“Dean, wait! I’m sor-!” Sam’s apologies follow after him as he snags a bottle of whiskey off the drink shelf and practically sprints out of the room. He doesn’t slow down until he’s out of the bunker and inside of Baby. And even then he’s spinning tires and leaving tire marks like Hell’s at his heels. And maybe it is, because Lucifer ate Cas, didn’t he?

The Impala burns fuel and chews the pavement for hours, days or maybe years before Dean pulls onto a small stretch of unpaved road a few yards off the main highway. His car is almost hidden by the tall grass and his Baby has barely stopped her purring before he’s taking his first swig of amber poison. It burns his throat on the way down and he welcomes it. He knows he’ll be sick and he looks forward to it. Because sobriety hurts too damn much. And this whole God damn mess is his fault so he deserves the pain.

But he _can’t_ take it. He can’t handle the memory of Lucifer coming at him with every intention of ripping him apart with _Cas’_ hands. He hates himself for not seeing it sooner. For not seeing all of the glaringly obvious signs that pointed to the obvious; the devil had been wearing his _Cas_ for almost a month.

And there had been signs. There had been so many signs! Dean clenched his teeth and gulped down another bitter swig. Lucifer had invaded his space in a way that was strange and unwelcome. Dean had complained about Cas’ habit of invaded his space for years, but both of them knew his words held no real heat. Lucifer had touched him like it was his right to do so, whereas Cas had always revered him. Lucifer had touched the _wrong_ shoulder, had encouraged his confusion about Amara. Cas would have met his gaze despite how sad his blue eyes would have been. Dean’s confession would have hurt Castiel but he would have been his friend and tried to help.

And he would _never_ ever have suggested using Dean as bait.

Another swallow of whiskey did nothing to ease his conscience. Because no doubt Castiel was aware of how long it had taken them. In fact Lucifer had probably delighted in tormenting him about it. How in the end it was simply boredom and Lucifer himself that had ended the ruse.

Would Dean have eventually figured it out? He’d like to think so. But he’d been belligerently avoiding all feelings he might have for the Angel for years now and at some point he’d taken to avoiding Cas as well. When was the last time he’d actually stopped and talked to the Angel? Or really looked at him? When had the two of them stopped communicating without words and allowing their eyes and purposeful touches say it all for them?

And why, why for the love of God had Castiel said yes to Lucifer?

Tears begin to fall and Dean tries in earnest to drink them away now. But the whiskey does not clear his mind or heal his heart. It doesn’t stop him from trying though.

* * *

 

He wakes the next morning feeling like he’s been hit by a bus. He finds that he doesn't mind. If anything he's a bit relieved. At least now he is as sick on the outside as he is on the inside. As he drives back towards the bunker, two states over, logic tries briefly to reason with him.

He knows that drinking his way into oblivion will not help Cas or defeat Amara. He knows that Cas isn’t around to magically heal his liver as he suspects the Angel has been doing for years now. He knows that Sam is probably worried sick about him. He knows that they have defeated Lucifer before and the Leviathan and Cain and other big bags of dicks. So Amara is in theory, beatable.

But Cas helped them each and every time. And Lucifer had only gone down because Sam had flung himself into the cage with him and Dean sure as hell isn’t letting Cas do that this time around. Lucifer was probably not going to beat Amara and even if he did, he would probably just start up a new Apocalypse without any Archangels around to fight him this time.

So now they had two supercharged villains, one of whom was wearing Cas and the other kept mind-assaulting Dean. So he was drinking.

He stops at a store on the way home and loads up on whiskey. He ignores the look on the cashier’s face because he doesn’t care what she thinks and because if he looks half as bad as he feels, then that was excuse enough.

* * *

 

Sam’s apology comes in the form of coffee, breakfast and pie. Dean takes them with a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and goes for a joke. “What? No skin mag? Some apology.”

Sam meets his eyes for a moment before replying very carefully. “I honestly wasn’t sure what you’d like. Your tastes aren’t quite as…singular as they used to be.” He nods once at Dean before leaving the kitchen.

It was the closest the two of them had ever come to acknowledging the thing between Dean and Cas. Sam had always poked and prodded, he’d always encouraged _them_ to talk about their relationship, but never outright suggested Dean might have different preferences now that Cas was in the picture.

He understands the eye contact and the nod for the approval they are. He knows that Sam was giving his blessing in such a way that Dean hadn’t needed to have a chick flick moment or come out.

But as the tears begin to gather in his eyes and he tucks a full bottle under his arm and carries the pie to his bedroom, he thinks that maybe the approval is just too little, too late. Because Cas is gone. And Dean doesn’t know how to get him back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing I was thinking about earlier. Might add more to it. I was thinking about the ways in which Dean has coped with the loss of Cas in the past. And this is what I came up with. I do hate a sad ending though, so it's unlikely that I'll leave it like this.


End file.
